I feel that a quick reminder is needed.

Tonight my phone has basically rung off the hook.

Some guy I never heard of called a million times, some payphone in Indiana called once, some cell phone in Columbus Ohio just called.

Here's the thing: If I don't know who you are I am not going to answer.

Never.

Ever.

If you know my cell phone number call that one - I have to answer it 'cause it might be work.

If you know my e-mail (hint: daveATbarePANTSnadaDOTcom - remove PANTS first, then do the obvious) then use that.

Hell, I've even put a message form on this website that you can use to contact me. Just remember that it's completely anonymous unless you tell me who you are.

If, however, you really get a kick out of wasting your time, then by all means just keep calling my home number.

Let it ring until Hell freezes over.

I still won't answer it.

I just love my caller-id.

Booked my Easter trip to Portland Maine this morning.

It should be fun, and it will definitely be something new.

I'd like to have time to drive to the Eastern most point in Maine, but that looks like about a 10 hour round trip so I'll probably pass and just make the 6 hour round trip to Montpelier Vermont and back.

Or, I may just hang around Portland if I find enough that interests me on Friday. I'll arrive at around 1:00 PM so I'll be able to get a slight feel for the place before heading to The Great Lost Bear on Friday night.

I'm optimistic that I'll be able to enjoy this trip without feeling the strong need for company. Actually, NotGeorge has expressed an interest in going. We'll see. All I can guarantee is that MixedSignalGirl will not be accompanying me. I've managed to defuse that particular bomb.

The other day I read or heard something that struck a chord in me.

We desperately cling to that which defines us.

I got to thinking, what defines me?

What do I see when I look into the mirror, into my own eyes? Who is it that looks back at me?

I just don't know.

I see nothing but fog and haze where a person once stood. I am in flux. I am shattered pieces of a soul waiting for reassembly. I am a ghost.

What form I'll eventually take, I can't say. What will define me in the coming months?

Will I find something new to cling to, as I clung to my longing and my sadness in the Fall?

Will anything ever come close to affecting me as strongly again?

Because I've finally seen the truth about myself, I can look back at those weeks without fear. I'm more than a little ashamed of what happened to me, and more than a little sorry for feelings I've hurt and concern I've caused, but more than that, I'm amazed at how quickly the person I was evaporated. I'd have never believed that anything could affect me so strongly. Could essentially erase everything I was and turn me into this amorphous thing I see when I look into the mirror.

Those weeks gave definition to my life. Definition that, until then, was obvious and superficial. Husband. Stepfather. Divorced Man. Computer Geek. Pool player. Whoop de fucking doo.

It's no wonder I clung so fiercely to those feelings. They defined me more accurately than any external definition ever had:

Dave
n.
1. Longing
2. Confusion
3. Hope
4. Desperation
5. Paranoia

And you know, all of that was really just the catalyst for the changes that took place inside me. If it hadn't happened then, it would almost certainly have happened some other time. I had gone stale. I was dying for change. All of my preconceived notions about who I was and what I wanted out of life - they were already obsolete way before it happened. All she did was provide the push I needed to step out of my old, comfortable shell and look for something better.

Or at least something different.

What kind of person will I be when my soul has been repaired? Probably pretty much the same person I've always been, at least on the outside. A little warmer, perhaps. Maybe a tad more open. More willing to take a chance. It's the changes on the inside that I'm excited about. I expect to be a better person. To not only get along with myself, but to actually like, dare I say love myself.

These are just guesses - what I hope I will become once I solidify.

I cannot rush these changes, these repairs. I've certainly tried. At times, I've even managed to fool myself into thinking I'd healed myself.

As John Belushi would often say, "But nooooooooooooooo!"

I'd stopped the bleeding, quelled the pain, but the healing only began then - it didn't end.

I look into the mirror and I search for a sign of what I'll become.

Okay, this is weird even for me.

Within a day or two after the full Moons of November, January, and February, I've been contacted by someone I miss terribly.

For whatever reason, December was skipped. As has every other day except those immediately following the aforementioned full Moons.

What's up with that I wonder.

I'm not much into mumbo jumbo - especially the whole full Moon thing - but this has happened three times in the last ninety days, and each of those days came just after a full Moon.

I suppose, since the Moon is apparently able to somehow regulate the flow of blood from vaginas, it could also be influencing some mental functions as well. And I suppose some of that influence could be manifested as a desire for familiar contact or some such.

The thing is, now that I've discovered this pattern, have I also managed to alter it?

Or do I have to wait until late March to hear from her again?

Today I went on a little trek.

I went to this little town (and using the word town here is quite a stretch) named New Boston.

RealTrainGirl and MisunderstoodGirl had told me about this place and I was bored today so I decided to check it out.

Just driving around and exploring is one of the few things that my ex-wife and I enjoyed together, but the women in my life since my divorce have always found it too boring. As a result I haven't really done a lot of exploring lately.

This little town (there's that word again) is easy to find. Just go like you're going to Caesar's and then keep going another 167 bazillion miles until you get to this:

That spot marks where Indiana 111 ends, and if you're sitting where I was as I took this picture, New Boston is behind you and to the left. Right behind the barking dog.

To get home I took some backroads. I know it's actually pretty hard to get lost, but I gave it a hell of a try. I knew I'd eventually hit Hwy 11 or 131 so I basically just kept pointing my truck North as much as the winding roads would allow.

I had fun.

In my never-ending quest to become the most boring person in the world, I present this, yet another entry about going to the bar on Friday night.

Actually, I went to two bars last night.

Woo hoo.

The first one, recommended by some people who's opinions really shouldn't matter to me as much as they do, was this place called Mac's Hideaway.

I was there for thirty, maybe forty seconds.

My new enemy was there, probably hiding from my hatred by avoiding Rich O's, and I didn't see anyone else I knew, so I left.

When I got to Rich O's it was after 10:00, and it was only moderately crowded. I tried to grab a seat on the loveseat but some assholes told me that they might be expecting some people to join them. My official Rich O's regular card must have been lost in the mail so I couldn't pull rank on these jerks, and I sat at the island instead.

My first beer was a Sierra Nevada Harvest Ale. I thought I had tried it last week and wanted to give it another try.

The first big mistake was that I hadn't tried it before - it was Goose Island Honker's Ale I'd been thinking of.

The second big mistake was actually trying this Sierra Nevada crap.

I took one sip and decided that it was just too disgusting for me to risk another. I had the bartender take the vile thing away from me and pour me a Guinness instead.

After a while CoffeeDude came in and joined me and I had an NABC Community Dark. I don't know if they've tweaked the recipe or if my tastebuds simply weren't suffering from sensory overload like they usually are, but it tasted different to me. In a good way.

At one point, lo and behold, the assholes did have some people join them in the living room area. I decided to forgive them for their rudeness because (a) they hadn't been lying to me earlier, and (b) their friends consisted of SweetLookingGirl and TooHotGirl.

I chose that nickname for the latter because after she came in I went out to the front area to make sure that NotGeorge had seen her, and to invite him to join me and CoffeeDude. He told me, "Dave, I just can't go in there. She's just too hot."

Indeed.

At one point some young girl came in and sat with us at the island. I've decided to call her HairGirl because she just wouldn't and/or couldn't stop twisting and twirling with her hair.

Okay Dave, time to start wrapping this up.

Once the living room people left, and the temperature dropped about 20 degrees, CoffeeDude, HairGirl, and I went over to the living room area and I had myself a Piraat.

Once the conversation turned back to coffee I got bored and came home.

ploop!

There's a lot of shit in me, and I do mean a lot, but sometime I feel like it's all become so impacted that it'll never come out.

I think I just got so used to holding it in that I've forgotten how to relax and just let go.

ploop!

So I sit here, straining and red-faced, trying to make something happen so the pressure inside me will ease up, but all I manage to do is

ploop!

Perhaps I need an enema. I'll have some beer tonight and see if that helps clean me out.

Went to Best Buy yesterday and bought a replacement for my failed drive. Also bought a replacement for another drive that's at least six years old and, I figure, due for a meltdown of its own.

On the advice of a coworker I removed the old drive and gave it a little rap with the heel of my hand. Imagine my surprise and delight when I reinstalled the thing and it fired right up.

I was able to transfer all of my files from the old drive before it failed again, this time probably for good.

Once I had both new drives in place, and all of my files transferred from the old drives, I ran a complete backup of everything on my system.

I don't want to have to go through that kind of worry again anytime soon.

In fact, if I wasn't so senile that I left my wallet at home today, I think I'd go ahead and buy a replacement for my third disk as well.

It looks like I've lost one of my hard drives at home.

I got a screech, the system rebooted, and when it came back up it didn't even recognize that a drive was there at all.

I'm moderately freaked out. This disk contained, among other things: all of my e-mail storage, all of my Terragen source files, all of my web site files including those for past versions, and the My Documents folder.

My last backup was probably at least a year ago, so I'm probably looking at a pretty substantial loss.

At least I can get my web site files back - they're all on the public server of course.

I'm just starting to look into some of the professional data recovery service companies. They sound pretty expensive though.

This sucks.

So that never happened before.

I had a dream about 'blogging.

I'd just transferred all of my entries to some new commercial 'blogging site and there was some kind of a judicial review going on because I was new.

One guy kept trying to give me this Dark and Stormy Night award for being so cheesy and overly dramatic, and another guy accused me of being a 'BlogBot because I'd seemingly posted a year's worth of stuff in a few minutes.

Then the phone rang in my dream and I kept trying to answer before it woke my wife (?!?) up it but the button didn't work so I pried the front cover off the phone and was trying to answer it by shorting it out with some nail clippers but I woke up instead.

Don't know if I'll keep this up for as long as I did last season, but here's my American Idol Report for tonight's show. I didn't even bother to watch the men perform last night.

Vonzell: What a stupid name. She sang the song Heat Wave that Kim Locke tried to kill in another season and did pretty well with it. (70 points)

Amanda: Hot. Singing seemed a little common but would like to hear more. (75 points)

Janay: Loved her voice though she seemed really nervous. Deserves another chance. (80 points)

Carrie: Hot. I actually got a little bored. I've heard women sing Country like that a million times. (72 points)

Sarah: Hot. No girl, especially no white girl, should ever attempt that song. (65 points)

Melinda: Picked a stupid song and then sang it artifically low. Randy proved himself an idiot by comparing her to Kelly Clarkson. She's not fit to do Kelly's laundry. (45 points)

Nadia: Sideshow Barbie. Just seemed a little full of herself, and sang a song I never heard before in my life. (71 points)

Celena: Smoking Hot. I want to do unspeakable things to her. I'm pretty sure she sang too. (74 points)

Mikalah: I swear she was using some kind of a fake cartoon voice. (60 points)

Lindsey: Hot. She absolutely hypnotized me. (80 points)

Jessica: Phil Collins she's not. She seemed to be holding back a lot. Deserves another chance. (60 points)

Aloha: Another stupid name. See The Delusional in my January 9 entry on karaoke observations for what I thought of Aloha. (40 points)

Ran across this picture today in one of the 'blogs I read.

I know a girl that moved to Arizona. This may explain why. Even the cacti are hung.

I walked into Rich O's this evening after work and, sitting in the red room, was a brunette typing away at a laptop computer.

That was very weird.

Today, for about the zillionth time, I found myself wishing that I was an asshole.

And I don't just wish this for today. Nope, I want my assholeness to be retroactive by several months at least.

As stands, however, I'm not an asshole. At least on the outside I'm not. So I keep having to spout the same crap over and over, trying to spare her feelings, even though I've known for weeks that there can be no future between her and me.

I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship.(not with you anyway)

I'm just a little moody tonight. It's not because of you.(it's because of who you are not)

You should probably just move on. (you should take the hint and find somebody better)

I just don't want to end up hurting you. (though I know it's already progressed beyond that point)

That last bit is actually the absolute truth. She's done nothing to deserve what I'm sure I'd end up doing to her. It's just that it sounds so much like a cliché that it's lost all meaning.

It's not like I haven't tried to end this. I look into her amazing eyes and try to come up with the words that will reseal this can of worms without too much pain. Without coming off like an asshole.

I tiptoe around the harsh truth with her, because I know that the truth will hurt her feelings. I know that hurting her would hurt me as well, but I can deal with my discomfort. It's but a drop in the bucket as they say. But to hurt her, that's just something I cannot do. Because I'm not an asshole. So I try to be gentle.

My words have no effect on her. There's something about me, she says, that is worth the wait.

What she doesn't see is that, those things she sees in me, they're not meant for her.

She'll read this, as she's read everything else, and it just won't sink in.

I wish she'd take the hint. Because, before too long I suspect, there'll be no more time for hints. It'll be time for me to act, and she'll just be in the way.

If I were an asshole, none of this would be happening.

If I were an asshole, things would be different.

Final tally after day one: 53.

Final tally after day two, and after eliminating several duplicates: 81.

It's probably for the best that I keep this bottled up for a while longer.

You know how sometimes you think you've got it all figured out, that nothing can really surprise you anymore?

Then you know how one day that thing, that thing you thought you had defined and categorized and labeled and stuck in a jar on a shelf, that thing beats you over the head and then rips open your chest and reaches in and grabs your insides and flings them all around you? And you're standing there with a smashed-in head and your heart and guts are all strewn about, and you realize maybe that you weren't quite as wise and smart and jaded as you'd thought? And then you realize that you just might be a dumbass?

You know what I'm talking about?

And do you know that, all those sappy clichés, they're all true? That the truth really does hurt, and it really can set you free? That love really is a many-splendored thing, and you can't really know it until you surrender yourself to it? Do you know how it's not all just bullshit to sell records and anniversary cards?

You know how one day you're sitting around contemplating how well you've got your shit together then all of a sudden your entire existence is turned upside-down, inside-out, every which way but loose? You know how suddenly you feel so alive that you wish you were dead?

Me neither. I'd like to know those things though. For now I just suspect them.

Okay, so this will be quick because I don't really feel like writing anything right now. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow and add some stuff. Or maybe not.

Friday I had one of those fucking nice and pleasant evenings at Rich O's. Boring boring boring. I'm pretty sure I had a Corsendonk Christmas Ale and a couple pints of Guinness.

On Saturday my sister Dina had arranged for several family and friends to meet up at Rich O's to help usher me into my forties. It was supposed to be a surprise but I ruined it by showing up early, plus I'd already had my suspicions when Dina called me a week before to ask what my Saturday night plans were. I ended up leaving and then coming back in so I could let them surprise me.

From left to right: Dina, my old friend Eric, Dina's fiancé Kenny, Eric's wife Terri, my sister Neisha, and her husband Chris.

Making later appearances were Dan "Holy Shit" Kruer and his lovely wife Kris. CoffeeDude also came in but I don't think Dina had a hand in that.

My first beer was a Piraat, back on tap after a long absence. After Dan and Kris had arrived, and Eric left the kiddie table, I moved over there and spent a while talking with Terri about books and the intriguing fact that she has single sisters.

CoffeeDude had been recommending a Goose Island Honkers Ale so I had one of those.

Goose Island Honkers Ale

(draft) A great beer for starting out an evening, yet interesting enough to make an entire session out of it. Smooth and malty. Tastes like it should have a higher ABV.

Once Terri had relinquished the throne I moved there and had a Guinness in honor of LaptopGirl, who was of course still absent physically but was nevertheless present in my thoughts.

Also in my thoughts were TrainGirl, gone for months now, and MisundersoodGirl and RealTrainGirl. MisunderstoodGirl is not working there anymore so I fear that I won't see either her or RealTrainGirl very often. Oh yeah, NotGeorge was supposed to be there but was a no-show. He'll be pretty bummed when I tell him that Dina was there.

For my final ceremonial beer of the night I had an Alaskan Smoked Porter and, once everyone else had gone home, I found myself sitting nearly alone with CoffeeDude as the big and little hands met at the top of the clock behind the bar.

So I began this new year in my life as I'd spent most of the previous one - sitting at Rich O's talking with a good friend and enjoying a good beer.

Happy Birthday to me!!!!

Yay!!!!

Don't forget to send me birthday greetings.

My Happy Birthday challenge, issued late last night, resulted in 46 birthday greetings as of 7:00 PM tonight.

Now, at 1:04 AM it's at 53 greetings.

Less than 24 hours left, and 47 to go.

So my aunt Helen died the other day.

I guess technically she was my ex-aunt as for the last several years she was my uncle's ex-wife. I don't really remember when the divorce happened - it was during the 15 year period when I lived away from here.

I also don't know the circumstances of their divorce, but I gather that they couldn't have been pleasant. Not like all of the other divorces that happen all the time when both parties are singing and dancing.

The reason that I don't think this divorce was pleasant was that when I asked when and where the service would be held nobody knew exactly, and I got one of these when I said I'd find out from the funeral home:

Well Dave, I guess you just have to do what you think is right for your self and your own conscience.

This was said with the same tone of voice I'd have heard if I'd announced that I was embarking on a multi-state killing spree with my herion dealing cult leading gay lover.

So I definitely sensed some tension there.

Well you know what, I liked Helen. And I'm going to go pay my respects. The rest of my family can do what they think is right for their own selves and their own consciences. My conscience tells me that, if things were really bad between her and my family, then she showed a lot of courage when she came to my father's funeral. I can repay that, if nothing else.

Wish me a Happy Birthday, Dammit!

Use the little form thingy over to the side - it's not difficult.

If I get a hundred birthday wishes I'll let you people know the truth, otherwise I'll keep it bottled up.

The deadline is midnight (EST) Sunday night.

Once again a claw rakes his skin, and he cries out. His refuge is not solid - there are small openings everywhere, and it is taking full advantage of them. Sharp talons reach in and grab at him, not able to get a firm grip but doing plenty of damage anyway. He tries to steel himself against the pain, but it always comes without warning. He begins to contemplate the impossible. He doesn't want to die like this, bleeding and cowering in the dark.

I almost never ever write anything about work here.

It's partly because I don't want to become another Queen of Sky but the main reason is that it's just not very interesting stuff.

I mean, writing about the beer I drink or the shows I watch on my personal time becomes simply mesmerizing when you start comparing it to things like how many hardware quotes I requested or how many spreadsheets I updated at work.

Sent out quote requests for the new Oracle servers today. I only gave the vendors three days to respond this time, but it's a pretty simple order. Somebody's hair is on fire about replacing these servers so I'm trying to speed up the process as much as I can. I always get quotes from several vendors but I pretty much always know ahead of time who's going to come back with the lowest price.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Where was I?

Oh yeah, work.

I'm so buried in paperwork that just about the only technology I touch anymore is this here keyboard. I do get to have fun when new equipment comes in, and when old equipment goes out, but for the most part my days are spent crunching numbers and researching new technologies and justifying expenditures and plotting project timelines and attending meetings.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Huh? Wha?

Oh, sorry.

So, when a rare chance to actually get my hands dirty arises, I jump all over it.

Like today, when I found that I was no longer able to talk to some equipment. We'd recently replaced a broken component and, apparently, we got the cables screwed up in the process.

Anxious to do some "real work" I grabbed a Fluke and made my way into the datacenter.

The Fluke consists of a couple of small pieces of orangey-yellow equipment. You connect the doohickey part to a network cable, and then you use the thingabob part to find the other end of the cable. The thingabob emits a tone when it's over the right cable, so this is called "toning out" a connection.

At least that's the way it's supposed to work. That's the way it works for everyone but me.

The way it works for me is that one of three things happens:

1. The thingabob starts making noise as soon as I enter the room and doesn't shut up until I leave.

2. The thingabob refuses to make a single sound no matter how much I beg.

3. The doohickey breaks as soon as I turn it on.

This is all eerily reminiscent of my younger days when I'd fry a new watch within a few days of owning it.

I have a magnetic personality, you see.

Some sensitive technology just doesn't like me, and that's just the cross I have to bear. And it may be getting worse. I've been spending so much time with paperwork that people are actually starting to doubt My Technical Supremacy.

There are even threats (made in jest, at least for now) that my datacenter access will be revoked if I continue down this path of ever-increasing administrative work.

I can envision a day when lights will dim when I enter a room. People with pacemakers will clutch at their chest and keel over. Planes will fall from the sky when I go outside to check my mail.

Eventually, I figure, the government will kidnap me, dissect me, study me, to find the secret of my power and use it as a weapon.

Did you hear about Tehran? They got Siltzed back to the stone age.

Eventually, my powers will spiral out of control, wiping out all of the progress we've made over the centuries, and a new Golden Age of Man will ensue. One unencumbered by the shackles of technology. All living things will exist in harmony.

And you'll have me to thank for your newfound paradise. But you'll have to thank me in person, because e-mail and telephones won't be working anymore.

A little quiz copied from another 'blog:

I am not: quite as messed up as I seem to be
I love: quirks and eccentricities
I hate: conceitedness
I fear: rejection
I hope: for the best, but expect the worse
I hear: lies
I crave: honesty
I regret: the little things
I cry: rarely
I care: as long as it's not too much trouble
I always: try to make people feel better
I feel alone: occasionally
I listen: for hidden meanings
I hide: from my own feelings
I drive: fairly conservatively
I dance: like a retarded child
I write: to relieve stress
I breathe: pretty much all the time
I act: like it doesn't bother me
I miss: the good old days
I learn: something every day
I feel: a lot more than I used to
I know: that there's a lot I don't know
I say: pretty funny things sometimes
I succeed: at failing
I fail: at succeeding
I sleep: fitfully
I wonder: what's out there
I want: to believe
I worry: that others worry about me
I have: to pee
I fight: for people that probably don't need my help
I need: acceptance
I am: not anti-social, dammit!
I think: thou dost protest too much

Last year I spent Easter weekend in Omaha. Not because of the holiday, well not directly because of the holiday, but because my company gives us Good Friday off.

So I went to Omaha to see some of my old friends and to just get away from Indiana for a while.

This year I'm thinking that I need to take another trip.

My last trip, to Las Vegas in November, was fun but not particularly relaxing. My own paranoia saw to that.

This year, as I said, I think I'd like to take another trip. Now I just have to decide where.

I could go back to Omaha, though as I said last Spring, most of my old friends and old stomping-grounds are gone or unrecognizable.

I could go to Seattle. I know that I'd enjoy the hell out of that, but it's a very long trip - I'd spend about half my time traveling to and fro.

I suppose I could go back to Las Vegas, but that's a pretty long trip as well, plus it looks like I'll be going there for a week in May. (That just reminded me, I was asked a very odd question about my Las Vegas plans recently. It actually made me a little paranoid.)

Right now, as I type this, I think I'm actually leaning towards Portland Maine. This is a place I've never been before, so I'd get to color it in on my map along with maybe New Hampshire and Vermont if I got really ambitious.

I'd also get to check out The Great Lost Bear, a place that Roger from Rich O's recently visited and endorsed.

Okay, now I'm getting excited. I'm going to start checking fares and stuff.

The other day (Saturday) I was talking with my cousin Jeff. He told me that he'd just watched some movie that I never heard of, and that some girl I never heard of was in it.

So the girl he was talking about was the girl in Joe Dirt.

This got me thinking that I hadn't watched that movie in several years, so I decided to find it and watch it. I know I own it on at least VHS, and probably on DVD, but I couldn't find my copy. Oh, well, right?

Just about when I gave up looking for my copy, Comedy Central started an airing of, you guessed it, Joe Dirt.

So I watched it, then I went to Rich O's where, to my great surprise, sitting right there at the kiddie table was, you guessed it, Joe Fucking Dirt!

Mullet and all.

Where's Rod Serling when you need him?

Don't you do it.

I'm not ready yet.

I need some warning, some time to prepare.

Don't you do it. Close the phone. Push away from the keyboard. Put the pen down. Burn the tickets.

I want it too much. It's been too long. But I'm still not ready.

Please don't.

(This entry is in no way related to the previous one. Seriously.)

I decided today that I needed to get myself an enemy.

My life has been sorely lacking in enemies for as long as I can remember. Sure, I've had my little spats and my occasional tiffs, but true enemies have been very few and very far apart.

I'm not talking about my shit-list here, wherein people are added and subtracted, elevated and demoted, depending on my mood and my current level of pissedoffedness. I'm talking about actual tried and true enemies. People that have managed to prove to me that they're beyond mere dislike, beyond the point where I can simply ignore them. These are the people that I actually wish would drop from the face of the Earth. And land on a bunch of shit-covered spikes.

The sooner the better.

Today, I picked myself an enemy. It really wasn't that difficult of a choice. This asshole has been nothing but a thorn in my side since the day I met him. This asshole has such a high opinion of himself that it makes everyone around him sick just talking to him. This asshole has had so many things in life just handed to him that he's come to believe that he has a God-given right to everything he wants. And to everything anyone else wants. It's all his.

This asshole thinks he won, but he didn't win shit. He twisted, he corrupted, he rewrote reality into something wherein he gets to be the best.

Someday his facade will be torn away, and he will be revealed as the small-minded little-dicked waste of flesh that he really is.

On that day I will laugh my ass off. I hope I'm there to see it.

I suppose you'll read this and the gist of my words will somehow make through that thick layer of fat and dead cells you have in place of a brain, and you'll think, "Damn, I'm sure glad that's not directed at me!"

Well guess what, asshole, it is directed squarely at you.

I ask for one fucking thing in the entire time I've known you - hell, maybe one thing in your entire miserable life, and what do you do?

You use it to further your own fucked up drug-induced self-propagandizing agenda.

You use it as ammumnition in your ongoing battle to annoy and belittle and ostracize every person you meet. You take my request and twist it around and use it to make me look like the bad guy. Like I'm the one with the problem.

I decided a while ago that if you fucked this up for me I'd never speak to you again. Now you've managed to fuck it up royally, and I find myself unable to avoid you. Some things are unfortunately more important than that which you've corrupted, and I'll continue to honor those obligations.

But know this, you incredibly immature fuckwad of a human being: You will not be trusted by me again. Not with anything.

I can hold a grudge a looooooooong time. Just watch. Asshole.

Oil and water. Chlorine and ammonia.

Some things cannot mix, and some things you should not try to mix.

Such is the case with some of the people who populate my life.

It wasn't always this way. As recently as a few years ago I was exactly like everybody I hung around with, except for the druggies who were nice enough to keep it to themselves for the most part.

Now, however, I find myself in several semi-overlapping circles, and often I think that the only overlap is me.

Lead and iodine.

I'd no more put MethBoy in the same room as MisunderstoodGirl than I'd take NotGeorge to the next Keithley reunion.

Beer before whiskey, mighty risky.

I'd no more put LaptopGirl in the same room with VigilanteGirl than I'd put my sister's fiancé in the same room with her ex-husband. Or SpoonsGirl with any single and lonely guy.

Alcohol and ibuprofen.

I could go on and on, and that's only sticking to my familiar and social circles. If I considered the work circle the number of potentially disastrous combinations would approach infinity.

I was going somewhere with this, but I forget where.

Just a little bored yesterday.

Saint Fucking Valentine's Day is tomorrow.

I think that some people, usually the people with vaginas, must have a kind of secondary internal clock - sort of like circadian rhythm but an annual one - that kicks in each February.

An alarm goes off around February 10th and these people start scrambling like mad to make sure they're not alone on the 14th.

I have a different kind of goal for Valentine's Day. The goal of not doing anything so stupid I'll regret it for a very long time.

Twenty years ago tomorrow I proposed to my ex-wife. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but that one action, fueled in part by the timing of the holiday, proved to be disastrous.

Last night I did my best to enjoy myself despite feeling like a complete asshole. I managed to do okay. I had a CorsenDonk Christmas Ale while talking with CoffeeDude, and after a while NotGeorge came in and I had a Robert The Bruce and a Tunnel Vision.

The Valentine Effect was very evident last night. Rich O's was the site of a nearly constant stream of attractive single women, all looking for whatever it is they're looking for when they get desperate. NotGeorge is a good person to share nights like last night with - his radar for pretty girls is highly accurate and useful.

So I ended up having a good, but not great, night at Rich O's. The lack of sleep begun the night before, combined with the necessity of again having to run the emotional gauntlet that is MixedSignalGirl, had put me in an irritated mood. Then the parade of lovelies and the good conversations picked me back up to normal.

Hey,

The restraint I displayed tonight surprised even me.

Some day I hope you'll appreciate the effort I put forth.

It was for your own good, after all.

Went to see the play Seussical at the high school last night. My niece was in it, and my nephew made a couple of appearances as a stagehand.

I enjoyed the play, especially the performance of one of my niece's friends as a yellow bird. There were two things that struck me as unusual though.

I realized about halfway through the thing that, as good as it was, it would probably be unbelievable if I were stoned - and that's a thought I haven't had in over two decades.

Near the end, when the Whos are trying to be heard, one of the characters takes a deep breath and shouts

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...

I was positive that this kid was going to say fuck but the applause over how long he held the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu made it impossible to hear how he finished.

After the play, I went to Rich O's and met up with my sister's friend SpoonsGirl and her imaginary friend HotBlonde. I had a Corsendonk Christmas Ale, a Rogue Dead Guy, and a Hitachino Red Rice Ale. Rich O's wasn't as crowded as Fridays have been lately, but of course I did arrive later than usual.

SpoonsGirl wanted to steal a mead cup then, when I told her I wouldn't allow it, she grudgingly offered to buy a mead cup, but they didn't have any for sale. I promised SpoonsGirl to remind someone to order an extra one sometime so she could buy it.

Yesterday for work we went to the zoo.

It was the first time I'd been there in a while. I guess I've become a little uneasy about the whole idea of keeping all these animals on display for our amusement.

I know, I know, we also get to study them, learn to appreciate them, and in many cases, help to save them from extinction.

Extinction that we're causing.

It's the apes that make me the saddest. Their faces are capable of showing all these emotions, and the only emotion to see at the zoo is sadness. Sadness at being trapped. Sadness at being stared at, pointed at. Even the ones born and raised in captivity are sad - they just don't know why because they don't know anything different.

At least on a conscious level - or whatever passes for a conscious level in apes - they don't know what they're missing but they know they're missing something.

I don't know, I guess I think that by taking these animals from where they belong, we're taking a lot more than just their freedom. We get to look at them, and study them, but we're only seeing their physical being. The rest of them, their wildness, their spirit, their soul if you will, is long gone.

If it ever had a chance to exist at all.

Now, after writing this, I feel like a hypocrite because I've got three cats that never get to leave the house.

It's for their own good, I keep telling myself.

Different for me, anyway.

All day yesterday I was working, in my head, on this entry about 'blogging and how it's not only about opening up, it can also be about showing off.

Then last night I got this other idea to write about the creative implications of living near natural wonders like Mt. Rainier or The Grand Canyon.

Well, these two ideas ended up cancelling each other out in my head, so I didn't write a damn thing yesterday.

This damn gorilla is really testing my patience.

I've tried threatening it. I've tried reasoning with it. I've even tried to tempt it with trinkets.

I can't get it to budge. Talk about a one-track mind.

I have one pretty drastic thing left to try, my secret weapon actually, but I'm reluctant to use it. I don't want to kill the pitiful thing - I just want it to get out of my face.

I guess I'll give it a little more time. Maybe if I just ignore it for a while it'll get bored and leave on its own.

Sitting at Rich O's after work today, talking with Roger and some guy I don't know, and drinking a couple of those Hitachino Red Rice Ales, I was reminded of an idea I had last night.

To test this idea, I asked the bartender to bring me a small amount of NABC Tunnel Vision and a small amount of Rogue Smoke Ale.

Oh, yeah, I asked him to bring them both in the same glass.

For whatever reason, I just figured that the honey sweetness of the Tunnel Vision and the smoky bitterness of the Rogue Smoke would play off each other quite well.

I actually think I was right. I would drink the stuff if it were available.

Now I know, if I ever decide to cave in to the peer pressure and dabble at homebrewing, what my first beer will be. A Belgian wheat with smoke and honey.

I think if you die and then come back as a zombie you should probably just take Halloween off, because nobody would take you seriously, and if people weren't running away from you it would be no fun at all.

The same advice would apply if you got turned into a vampire somehow.

The jungle envelopes him, claws at him. He doesn't know where he's going anymore. There is no sense of direction. There is - nothing at all except the sound of the twigs snapping under his feet and the rustling as his trail heals itself behind him. Even the sound of the ocean has become lost in the past.

He runs, as well as he can through the thick brush. Something is following him, some thing has been following him since he left the beach. And it's gaining on him.

I found out today that, for some unknown reason, I've never rated Delirium Tremens at ratebeer.com. I just corrected this injustice:

Delirium Tremens

(draft) My desert island beer. I only wish I could drink more than a couple without going into a coma. The ultimate Belgian as far as I'm concerned.

Another thing about this beer - when I tell the bartender at Rich O's that I'd like a Tremens, he invariably asks, "Delirium Tremens?"

Like there's any other.

I didn't plan to do anything last night except just have the game on in the basement while I shot some pool.

That way I could say I'd watched the stupid thing without being a complete liar.

At one point, however, I went to the store to gas up my truck (so I wouldn't have to do it this morning) and when I left the gas station I just reflexively headed to Rich O's.

Actually Rich O's was closed, it being Sunday and all, but its sister-business Sportstime Pizza was open so I went there.

Football really pisses me off. It preempts my regularly scheduled programming. It always runs late. It's boring.

And it makes otherwise normal people into obnoxious drunken idiots.

I ended up sitting at Sportstime with NotGeorge while I had a Gulden Draak and a Tunnel Vision. Every time somebody on TV would do something people would start jumping up and high-fiving (fiveing?) each other like they were the ones that had just done whatever it was.

Only NotGeorge, red-blooded male that he is, was able to pull his attention away from the TV long enough to pay proper homage to SmolderingHotGirl who was sitting a few tables away. She was with people we were assuming were her parents and her daughter, but now I realize that it could have been her parents and her sister, in which case NotGeorge and I might both be going to hell.

I bet it's all Bud and Miller there.

I guess the theme of tonight - at least the theme of the conversations we had tonight - was what the fuck does/did she see in him?

Not very original, I know. This question has been pondered since the dawn of time, and will continue to be pondered at least until the Sun expands 93,000,000 miles and turns our little planet into charcoal.

Original or not, there it was. The Big Question.

What the fuck does ExtremelyHotGirl see in ShavedHeadFatFucker? What the fuck does KindaCuteGirl see in ClearlyGayGuy?

What the fuck did you-know-who see in FullOfHimselfDude, or in NaiveAndCluelessGuy?

These questions will probably never be answered.

Tonight was a fairly typical night at Rich O's, highlighted only by a little paranoia on my part that proved to be unfounded.

To drink, I had a Rogue Smoke, a Delirium Tremens, and an NABC Tunnel Vision. Nothing new for me, thanks anyway. All are excellent beers. The Tremens, in particular, is just fantastic.

The first half of the night I spent talking with MusicalHippyDude and the guy who I think is the singer in their band. The second half of the night I spent talking with one of LaptopGirl's ex-boyfriends. The cool one, for those keeping score at home.

ElPresidente is turning 40 this Monday. This revelation only served to remind me of my own impending birthday, just two weeks away. I'm not depressed about this milestone at all, but I am irritated by it. There was a lot of stuff that was supposed to have happened by now that, I fear, will never happen as I slide down the other side of this hill I'm about to crest.

I have more to say, but I'm going to hold off. It's this new "restraint" thing I've been working on.

(PS, 020805: I fucking hate typos. I just corrected one in this entry that had sat for nearly three days. If you hate typos as much as I do, please point them out to me so I can correct them as soon as possible.)

"Watch this, CoffeeDude. I bet I can get that girl to come sit with us."

CoffeeDude took a look at the girl at the bar, then took a look at me, then took another look at the girl at the bar, and then gave a little chuckle. "Go for it." CoffeeDude was skeptical.

He was more skeptical when I began flailing my arms and calling out "Hey you!" trying to get her attention.

He was the skepticism king of the universe when, having failed to lure her gaze with my flailing and hey-youing, I wadded up a napkin and threw it at her head.

Hey, girls like that stuff, right?

Right?

Well my aerial bombardment did indeed get her attention, as I'd known it would, and I patted the couch and told her that a seat was available. She got up and made her way over.

We couldn't very well turn CoffeeDude loose upon the world, thinking he'd discovered a new secret of chick-magnetism, throwing stuff at all the women he encountered, so after enjoying a couple of seconds of being CoffeeDude's hero, I introduced him to my sister Dina.

Dina's fiancé was out enjoying a boys night out so she came to Rich O's to have a couple of beers with her older brother. Awwww.

Other than this little bit of rarity, it was a pretty tame night. We all sat in the living room area and talked. I had a Gulden Draak and a Delirium Tremens. I introduced Dina to NABC Tunnel Vision, and she seemed to like it.

Also, I guess the place where my uncle and cousin have been doing karaoke has decided to stop for a while, so unless they get another gig somewhere I'll be going straight home from Rich O's.

That's what I did last night.

Somebody actually typed this into Google and got led to my site:

Can a Monkey come out the wood to surprised a human person to be seen standing in front of a human person then he will take the human person in his Monkey jungle to force the human person to change the human person to a Monkey animal?

Well I certainly hope they get their question answered somewhere. Then, I hope they take a class on grammar and punctuation.

It's sitting there now, in the middle of the room. I'd convinced myself that I'd driven it away, but as soon as I let my attention wander, as soon as I let my mind drift from all these trivial distractions, there it was. As hairy and smelly and ugly as ever.

I'm going to have to deal with this brute eventually. The other night I got right in its face and ordered it the fuck out of my house. Showed it the door. Gave it its walking papers.

It just sneered at me.

I wasn't going to get rid of it that easily.

The cats have been following me around the house all night.

I've been trying to figure out what they want.

Litterbox Clean: Check.

Food and Fresh Water: Check.

All Inside Doors Open: Check.

That's about all I can think of.

As I type this, Happy is laying on the floor right behind my chair, Buddy is on the bookshelf, and Nugget has stationed himself at the door to my office. All three are watching me type, like they're waiting for something.

Or plotting something.

I suppose they could be sensing my mood, the way Happy did, years ago, when I learned of my grandmother's death and he jumped into my lap before I could even hang the phone up, but neither of my other cats have ever behaved this way before, so I don't know what's going on.

It's actually creeping me out a little. Maybe we're going to have an earthquake or something. Maybe I'm about to drop dead.

Maybe I'm just paranoid.

As he nears the beach, he feels the rip tide beneath him, trying to pull him back into the depths. He struggles frantically, and finally, miraculously, feels solid ground beneath his feet. The waters, losing their grip, switch tactics. They send monstrous waves into his back, threatening to smash him into the rocks. He continues undaunted. His salvation is in sight, he will not die here. Not on this day.

He scrambles through the water that is neck-deep, then waist-deep, then suddenly he is free. He collapses onto the wet sand and crawls his way to safety.

From the jungle, glowing eyes watch.

Spent the better part of this evening crafting a long entry.

When I finally finished it, I read it to check for typos and such.

Then I read it again because, well, it was good.

No, scratch that. It was brilliant. It was insightful, funny, sad, and hopeful. It was easily the best thing I've ever written.

This was the entry I needed to write, the entry I've had building up inside me for a long time.

You, my readers, would have loved this entry. You would have laughed. You would have cried. Some of you would have offered yourselves to me sexually. Such was the power of my words tonight.

It explained with metaphor and analogy and humor and innuendo those things that I'd given up as unexplainable. In its mission to explain and describe the truth, it transcended the truth and revealed meanings and motivations inside me that even I didn't know existed.

There was, however, one problem. I couldn't post the thing.

There are things that I've tried very hard to put behind me. Topics that I've sworn to avoid. Though these demons still live inside me, I've resolved to keep them in check, to prevent them from ever hurting me or anyone else again.

I've gotten pretty good at it, for the most part.

Tonight, facing a mental block once again, I found myself calling for their help, and they gladly obliged. They scrambled through my mind, unlocking doors and reopening passages through which, until recently, they'd roamed freely. Tonight they were no longer my enemies. Tonight they became my allies - no longer tearing and ripping away inside me but instead providing only gentle hints and reminders of the truth.

Tonight they led me to where the truth was, but they didn't try to force it on me. They let me recognize it on my own.

Tonight they led me back to myself, and when I saw what had become of me I nearly wept from the force of that vision.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. I never doubted a single thought, a single sentence, or a single revelation. Everything was so clear. The thoughts just flowed out of me. It was an epiphany.

It was just so damn freeing!

Yet, still, I couldn't post the thing.

My wounds have finally healed, but there are people with their own demons, entwined at times with my own. I cannot, should not, will not awaken their demons just to show off what is, in the end, just a good piece of writing. They are not ready for their demons to awaken. They may never be.

So, I've saved this entry, this culmination of my brief experiment with writing, to my hard drive. I'll keep it available, lest I ever need it again, lest I ever find myself becoming lost again. I'll keep it handy, but I won't be posting it.

You would have loved it though.